Laugh at something other than national politics. Urban comedy with a kick.

“Shakespeare basically did street lit back in the day.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“James, I can’t write street lit.”
“That’s where Crosshairs is going. You’ve gotta come with us.”
“Everybody and their mama is doing street lit!”
“Know what? You’re selling. My other authors ain’t. I couldn’t see why at first, but, see, they’re writing me. They’re watering down my Kool-Aid. I take a chance on you, you give ‘em sweet tea and they lose their minds. I get emails wonder-ing when you’re going to drop another book.”
“They’re not looking for street.”
“They don’t know what the fuck they’re looking for; all they want is more tea. I know: you’re an author; you don’t write street. Street is utter bullshit.”
“Yes, it is. And if you mention Shakespeare again I’ll punch you in the nuts.”
“That’s street right there! You can write this shit in your sleep. I guarantee you will sell more units with this next book than all your other books combined. White women read your stuff! Not Oprah-level but maybe some that watch The View. Ok? You got black women, library black dudes, and enough white women to notice…reading your stuff. Write a street book.”

A satire so good it should ​"delight a niche audience of any & all writers, creators...the reading public, couch potatoes, dogs who read to try to figure out human behavior, & aliens everywhere." ~ Anna Tambour, author of Crandolin